Fable: The Return Chapter 2
The king is rushed to the scum of Bowerstone Industrial to speak with an old friend Chapter 2 Bowerstone Industrial: a thriving sector of the capital city that was once built with the confidence that it would bring forth the future of Albion. Smokestacks billowed out black smog that rains pollution upon the people of Bowerstone. Clouds of poisoned fog crept down each and every street, seeping into the windows of those foolish enough to keep them open. Buildings of wood and brick hung over the sad streets with looming roofs. The air was thick with the noise of coughing from the mouths of both the grown and of the children. The king walked solemnly through the fog with six elite guards escorting him. Even in the happiest of places, the king was never safe. The guards led the king down the winding streets, towards the center building. In the heart of Bowerstone Industrial was a factory. While there were many factories that littered the district, this one had the largest machines, the tallest smokestacks, the most workers, and by far the most maniacal master. The king was led to the large doors that hosted a harsh welcome for many citizens who worked inside. Above the doors was a grand and decorated 'R'. The doors creaked open and the king was led inside. Even in the dead of night, there were still workers toiling their life away at the machines. The king often wondered what the machines were even for, or why they needed to feed them at all hours of the day. He observed as men shoveled mountains of coal into the fires that fueled these unholy contraptions. The fires burned red hot and sent smoke and ash rising into the heavens. The escorts pressed on through the workers and the smoke and they boarded the elevator; at once they rose (I took out the word 'upward'; 'rose' implies an upward direction) toward the very top of the factory. The lift brought them through what looked like the ceiling, which was actually the floor of an office. The king was led out of the lift and into the office of the master of this hellish place. "As always," began a voice on the other side of the room. The figure to whom the voice belonged stood in front of the circular window, facing away from the king. "It is a splendid pleasure to see you yet again your majesty." "The same to you, Reaver." The king looked to the tall figure at the window. Reaver turned toward the king with his youthful grin, garnished with the black-heart tattoo on his upper cheek. Reaver wore a blood-red suit and still walked with his old, black cane. "Why the red?" "Oh my liege, red is the new color of royalty! You must have heard? No? Ha! You see, my friends in Samarkand have told me that purple is just not as grand as it once was, they tell me that indeed red is where the future is! Red! The color of blood and fury. Oh it's delightful it truly is." Reaver had always had a knack for going on about his life and what he saw for the future. "If you so desired, your majesty, I could send the best of the best tailors and you could have yourself a shiny new set of royal apparel, gloriously draped with the finest red cloth. You could start a new standard for the kings of the future! You could be the first of monarchs to follow me, Reaver, in turning the gears of-" "Enough Reaver," The king interrupted. "You have asked for my presence here for a real reason, and it is not to discuss royal fashion." Reaver seemed slightly taken aback, but continued to wear his trademark smirk. "Yes, of course your majesty." Reaver directed the king's attention to the table in the center of the room. The table featured one large sheet of parchment with the etching of a great circular hall. "This, my oh so gracious lord, is what the old texts lead me to believe is the great hall from the Guild of Heroes. Somehow, since the burning of the Guild, it has found itself in all its glory underneath the mines at Bower Lake. As you can see," Reaver pointed to the etching, "we have found that the ancient floors here have collapsed, leaving only a portion remaining of what once was. There is a straight shot from the supposed entrance of the hall to what some of my past experiences prove to be a cullis gate. I believe you have some experience in the matter. In the center we found some old desks with very ancient papers strewn over them. All of what we found was unreadable, either it was faded away or it was written in odd symbols. Now, finally to the reason of why this should interest you. You have always been interested in your father's history, and you have expressed this interest so thoughtfully in me. Well, as you already know, Bower Lake is where your father would return to every so often and the old stories always say that he found his power under the lake. You know all of this already so, as I could and did imagine, you would absolutely perish in order to see this place. It reeks of old Hero-King musk." "Very well, Reaver, take me there. I wish to see this place for myself." "Oh, splendid! I knew you would be up for another underground adventure! Just like your old days with Walter, isn't it?" The king looked coldly at Reaver. "Oh yes, that is a rough spot to bring up as I remember. Either way, it should be an experience for you most definitely." "Reaver?" "Yes, your majesty?" The king paused and stared at the young face of Reaver. "You never really told me what happened in The Spire. The people like to say that my father ended Lucien's life. But I know it is one of your hundreds of calling cards that you're the one that shot him." "Ah, the memories of the past fill my mind. I have so many fond dreams of my superb parties in my estate in Bloodstone, of your father gathering me up and throwing me into his problems, learning that I was some Hero of Skill by a blind woman in a hood. Of course I always knew I was a Hero, but this was different. Most of all I have memories of my greatest adventures in Samarkand, such splendor, such vastness. But… of all these memories that fill my noggin, I cannot for the life of me seem to remember who shot the bastard." Reaver said this with only the slightest hint of a lie - something that he has perfected over the ages of his life. The king was unable to get anymore information out of him; when Reaver would lie, he intended to keep it the way he told it. "So it is, then. I suppose I shall never know, and maybe it is better off that way." Reaver smirks when the king says this. "I suppose, then, that we should prepare for our journey." "So it would seem, your majesty."